


The Cost of Vengeance

by clehjett



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AC Unity AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Analysis, Character Death, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy Angst, Hehehe, Romance, arno and elise, kneecapping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-15 11:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5784511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clehjett/pseuds/clehjett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lessons can be drawn from various places. Arno and Elise have known loss. Arno - still too much.</p><p>When you walk the path of vengence, be prepared to dig two graves. And that is something Elise, and Arno have to learn the hard way.</p><p>Can you really let someone you truly love go?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What if?

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU. What would happen if Arno died instead of Elise? How would she redeem herself? What would happen in Dead Kings? Will she strive on for what she had wished for the both of them? Or will she have to discover hope again. Is she willing to let Arno go?

Too few words can describe pain - its exact degrees or sensations, its faint touches and brushes, or even its texture. But none who have truly been in love, or even known it can say that they are strangers to torment. And that’s not to say about physical pain either.

 _Happier times…_ Arno thought. He recalled days of laughter and wonder. Colours and tastes were sharp and beautiful, but what was most exquisite – was what he felt. When he looked into Élise’s bright eyes – sometimes they shone, other times they glowed, when she kisses him or smiles at him. When Élise laughs, it’s almost tender. They are gentle bells and soft breezes. They were better days, when the hardest he had to work was enduring the minutes, the nights, without Élise and her happy smile. _Well, that and shovelling the horse manure for Olivier…_

_We were so carefree. We were so innocent._

Arno lamented when he saw Élise change. He knew hate, and he knew blood. It was almost all he had known for the past few years. The only thing to keep him going was the memory of Élise and summers in Versailles. Monsieur De la Serre’s stern but bemused looks. But this turn in her was far darker than he’d dreamed. This wasn’t Élise.

Nor was he quite the same Arno either…

“If you get a shot at Germain,” Élise said, “you take it.” Without further words, she turned from him. Arno frowned. It was bitterly cold that morning, and the sun had not even the chance to warm the stones. But what Élise had said chilled him to the bones more than any winter the weather could conjure. The gnawing feeling he had in his gut hardly left him anymore. He had learned to trust his instincts. And this was a bad feeling. Why? This was what they had worked for.

Wasn’t it? Or could they have had another choice? Leave Germain. Turn away. Start anew? Was that something they could really want? Seeing Élise’s hardened eyes, stark like opals… No. She wouldn’t want to. She would want to make things right. Germain was a villain, a bastard and fiend. He had taken so much from the both of them. If he had to be honest with himself, Arno wanted this too.

But at what cost?

* * *

Élise always loved the chase. But this time it wasn’t a joke. Arno yelled her name as she sprinted by him with a cry of rage. As soon as the doors opened, Arno knew he could not stop her. And Germain did not give them the opportunity. A blaze of light, Arno knew, would kill them in seconds shot past them and nearly took out the door. Arno and Élise dodged expertly and ducked behind the ceilings. Arno knew he had to keep Germain distracted while he had that _infernal_ weapon. Looking out from his hiding place, it looked to him to be a sword. _But it glows_. And it crackles as if lightning burns through it. True enough, the second he stepped out to shift positions, a bolt of light crashed into the rock he ducked under. It was impossible. Sorcery, Arno thought. What in blazes was that thing? How did Germain come to possess such a weapon?

Arno looked to Élise, who had proceeded to distract Germain while Arno crept closer. She met his taunts with sharp words of her own, but even he could see the effect they had on Élise. Her rage and bloodlust were visible. And Arno saw, for a fraction of a second, Élise about to step out…

Arno shot out then, approaching Germain and shooting his blade out at his neck, but before the metal met flesh, the sword blazed with unearthly light and Arno felt a force hit him square in the chest, pushing him backwards. Dazed and disoriented, Arno got up, to hear Germain’s continuing taunts, goading them, edging them. In his blurry vision he saw Germain reappear in the far corner, raising the sword to him. Arno acted quickly, dodging behind a pillar before the beam of fire hit the rock behind him.

After the second time Germain disappeared, the pair began to notice his pattern, and Élise began to position herself where Germain might appear. Arno made his move, showing his bluff and forcing Germain into the corner Élise hid, and when the light subsided, with a cry Élise brought her sword down, where Germain sidestepped and struck her with a painfully audible crunch with the butt off the sword. Élise cried out and backed away.

Sensing the change in the battle, Germain raised his sword a final time, and with a flick of his wrist, the unholy light shot from the tip and destroyed the cavernous ceiling, rubble rained down on all of them, as Germain turned to flee.

“He’s getting away!” Élise shouted, dashing forward.

“Élise, don’t!” Arno cried, pushing her out of the way of falling debris. In his desperation, Arno shoved Elise, with more force than he had intended, and they both crashed into a wall. “Élise, be careful!”

Ignoring his warning, Élise stood and dashed ahead. Exasperated, Arno flung his sword with precision, and the blade crashed into the rock before Élise feet. Elise gasped and stopped. Instead of stopping to think, or pausing to apologise, Arno dashed past Elise’s stunned face. He ran to give chase to Germain. He needed to finish this. Quickly, before Élise could recover and throw herself in reckless actions. He needed to end Germain before anything he said could spur Élise into further stupidity. Her eyes blazed too brightly, she was not thinking with her head. She blindly threw herself into battle, and given the chance she would hurt herself. Arno would not allow that. _Now_ , when she was down, he needed to kill Germain.

Silently, but swiftly, he closed in on Germain’s exposed back. Steel on steel met, and hidden blade struck on sword. Germain smirked at Arno.

“What’s this? - The Assassin choosing to meet me in combat? How unusual.” Germain taunted. “Tell me, is this the petit mademoiselle’s influence, or did you truly wish vengeance?”

With a great ferocity and tremendous cry, Arno tackled Germain, taking him by surprise. The two crashed into a cavern-like room. He drove his blade down unto Germain’s chest and attempted to knock his sword away, but Germain with a cry of pain, bashed Arno’s head with the sword hilt and pushed him off. Arno rose quickly and stepped into Germain’s space – he needed to be close enough to kill him but not far enough that he could use the sword’s power against him. Germain swung the heavy sword, but not without skill or effort, and Arno dodged and rose his hidden blade to meet him. Though Germain had the upper hand, Arno was quicker and light. But despite that, he was also driven by rage and desperation, in his haste, his mad dash to Germain was quickly countered with a blow to his side. Arno fell and collapsed onto rubble and broken doors.

“Ugh…” Arno groaned. The pain was bearable but his ears were ringing. As skilled as he was, he was no match for Germain’s calm demeanour and ungodly senses.

“I suppose _you_ are responsible for Levesque? Perhaps even so far back as Sivert and Le Roi?” Germain spoke. “Well. I must say, you are quite the talented killer. But the fun is over. Your little tussle with Mademoiselle De la Serre and our affairs is over.” Germain raised the blade over Arno, and Arno grasped blindly around him. His hands closed in on a thick block of wood, and with a great cry of rage, swung it at Germain.

The sword let forth a shrill ring, and light shone from it, brighter than before. It was as if the sword had cracked, and not its power was leaking from it. Germain gazed down with horror at it, gripping it tightly as it sung with pain. “What have you done? You imbecile!”

Footsteps and loose debris loomed over Arno who stood up, holding his side, and he looked up to see Élise staring down at the two of them in horror. She glanced at the sword that seemed to glow brighter and brighter, until it was too painful to look at. She gasped and screamed at Arno. “Arno…RUN!”

Arno looked back at Germain, who was looking just as terrified as Élise, yet he still held the sword, which seemed to burn his hands where he wielded it. The awful ringing emanating from the sword reached a screech that pierce the room, and Arno sensing danger, turned to flee.

In that moment, a great noise not unlike a scream of pain brought forth a great explosion of light and fire, engulfing the room. Arno screamed as he felt his body rip open in pain, the blast spinning him round and he landed on his face and was still.

Élise shut her eyes and ducked down, screaming Arno’s name. When the light died, Élise looked over the room with great fear. Germain was there, still alive it seemed, but his body was badly charred and his face was splattered with blood.

“Arno!” Élise shouted. She scrambled down the rise and dashed to where he lay face down in the rubble. She skidded to her knees and gently but urgently turned Arno over. The sight that met her eyes nearly had her in tears. There was a gaping wound across Arno’s chest, quite unlike any Élise had ever encountered. The exposed flesh singed like a burn, too precise to be anything but a sword. It was a bloody mess that Arno clutched at, breathing hard. Copious amounts of blood flowed down Arno’s side and dripped down unto the broken rubble beneath him. Arno gasped each breath and each time he did it was raspy and laboured.

 _There’s no way he will survive_ …

“Arno! _Mon dieu…”_ Élise gasped and cried. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she knelt at his side. Ripping up Arno’s cloak, she tried desperately to bind it and stop the bleeding. “Oh god… Oh, Arno…” Élise cried. Her hands shook with such fear as she had never felt before and she slipped, with her bloody hands to wrap it around his torso. With each strip of cloth she placed on it, it immediately soaked red with Arno’s blood.

“Oh, mon dieu… Arno! Oh god…” Élise gasped. She frantically pressed at his wound but it she knew it would not help at all. Despair flooded her and engulfed her, looking down at Arno, rasping away. She called out, “ _Au secours!_ _Est-ce que quelqu'un est là! Au secours!”_ Élise screamed. Her tears falling steadily down her face

 _“Élise…_ ” Arno whispered. He weakly lifted a hand and held hers. “Go get help. I’ll be fine….”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not leaving you!” Élise shouted.

“What…” Arno laughed weakly. “Are you going to carry me out?” Arno mocked.

“How…” Élise sniffed. “How can you say such things now…?” Arno was beginning to turn a grey shade of pale, and his skin was starting to feel cold as ice.

“I need to get you out of here… I need to… We can get more bandages…medicine… _Merde!_ ” Élise cried, wiping her tears from her eyes, which unpractically blocked her vision with pointless tears. Arno’s blood smeared over her cheek  and she crawled up, and tried to reach for Arno’s shoulder, trying as hard as she could be to be gentle with him despite her anxious desperation.

“ _Élise_.” Arno called. He lifted a gentle hand, and almost infinitesimally, stroked her cheek softly, moving down her temple, down to her lips and then her chin. His hand dropped to his lap, and he coughed, blood staining his lips and flowing from the sides of his mouth. He smiled, one so brittle and kind that Élise felt her heart ache.

“ _Go…”_

Élise shook her head, wordless and pained. She was not leaving him.

“Go… I’ll be here…” Arno whispered

In her heart, Élise did not want to leave. But if she needed any hope of saving Arno, she could not do it alone. With great effort, that left a stinging mark on her chest, she rose, bending over Arno and kissing him deeply. He tasted of blood and salt. She breathed deeply, holding his face between her palms and feeling the heat from his forehead burn into hers. She looked him deep in the eyes, sternly and sadly.

“You’d better be here…” Her voice shook. A gurgle caught in her throat, threatening to come out as a sob. Arno only smiled and nodded.

“Not…going anywhere…” Arno smirked weakly. “Élise…”

_Je t'aime_

* * *

Élise sprinted back into the stilled battlefield, several citizens whom she had pulled from the street with her frantic screaming and the blood all over her, in tow. “Arno!” She called. She passed Germain, whose glassy eyes and still form could only mean he was dead. A man bent down over him and pressed fingers to his neck and shook his head. Several others filed in, the voices churning around Élise who was oblivious to it all and dashed straight to Arno.

“Arno?” Élise called. Curious. Where…what happened? The space was empty. The pile of rubble and charred wood was exactly where she had left it but… Élise’s heart skipped a beat and lurched into her throat. “Arno!”  she swivelled around.

What was this? There was only a pool of drying blood, and smears of it on the floor. She knelt then beside it, and examining it, she surmised that Arno had dragged himself to Germain, and finished the job. _Oh, Arno…what are you doing?_

“Arno? Where are you?” Élise called again. “Arno!”


	2. Storm's Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will Elise do now?
> 
> I sincerely hope that you guys are still with me. I understand a lot dislike Elise - despite her motivations and reasoning. But I hope you can see this through. Just as Arno wanted to redeem himself, so does Elise

A loud bang startled and woke the old man. Rising painfully to his feet, he hobbled to the door, leaning heavily on his stick and feeling the ache in his one good leg. A flame of red danced across his vision, darting here and there amongst the clutter and crash of objects crashing to the floor and doors being slammed open.

“Élise my child, what is the matter? What’s wrong? Was the mission successful?” Weatherall inquired. Elise crashed through the house, leaving hurried destruction in her wake, her hands were bloody, to his alarm, and her shirt front was stained red, startling match to the red in her hair.

“I have to go back… Arno… I have to look for him.” Élise spoke hurriedly. She stomped to the door with determined strides, gathering up the pistol at her hip and the ammunition she refilled, she grasped the door knob, only to find her hand trapped in the steely grasp of her mentor.

“Élise… What is wrong? What happened?” He asked pointedly.

“We fought Germain. Arno was injured… I have to go back for him…” Élise replied absently.

“Élise, wait. What happened? Where is Germain?”

“Arno killed him. But Arno… Germain was using a weapon unlike any I had ever seen. A weapon like the ancient relics Father used to describe. Arno managed to kill him but it hit him…” Élise gasped. She reared against the arm gripping her wrist. Every second she tarried was a second away from Arno.

“Élise, stop. Explain everything.” Weatherwall demanded determinedly. Élise swallowed a breath and began regaling him about the events at the Temple. How Arno had looked at her with pointed eyes, the battle, Arno’s cry and Germain falling to the floor and his lifeless corpse. With every word she felt her chest convulse with anxiety and fear, and every breath felt like ash in her lungs. Her eyes stung, when she began telling him about Arno’s….words to her.

“So you see I _have_ to go! I have to go back and look for him!” Élise pulled at his grasp, lurching for the door

“Élise.” Weatherall called. “You said he was injured. But when you returned, he was gone. You spoke of how he told you to send for help, but he was not there.”

“Yes…” Élise replied.

“Do you think perhaps, he could have sent you away and…?” Weatherall trailed off as he watched Élise carefully. Her skin bristled at the probing on her, and her eyes grew dark and mouth crumpled into a scowl.

“ _No._ ” Élise spat. “Arno wouldn’t do that….” Élise shook her head, backing away from her mentor slowly as he finally released her. Arno wouldn’t, he wouldn’t send her away only to put her through this. She knew what he was implying – that Arno would not want her to see him like that, sensing his end, and crawled away to die. He simply wouldn’t. He promised he wouldn’t be going anywhere. He had said so. Arno never broke a promise…

“Élise.” Weatherall said again.

“No. I have to go.” Élise replied. With a sharp twist of her wrist, the door swung open and Élise was gone.

* * *

It burns… The air whisked past her hair, and whirled through her throat. It was burning, so rough and coarse. Élise ran, past surprised faces and startled cries. She barrelled through crowds and she might have shot someone along the way. It mattered not. She needed to _get there_. Her feet hurt and her head was spinning.

_Arno… Arno… Arno…_

Élise sped through throngs of people and at some point fell through a hole in the street, spraining her ankle. She barely slowed and with a single powerful stride was on her feet and speeding away.

_Arno._

The spires of the Temple loomed over her and Élise fell down step after step and burst through the chamber. She turned, to see Germain, where she had left him, dead and bleeding. She looked down at his mismatched eyes. Coldly, she stepped over him. She should have killed him herself

_But Arno…_

He was the one that stepped between them – almost overprotective, possessive even. Élise stopped. Arno… He was always sensitive, empathetic… He was always observant, but most of all to her. Could he have known? - The extent of which Élise was willing to go, to sacrifice herself, and sacrifice Arno, for vengeance and justice? Or was it simply pure revenge? Was that what he feared? That she would do it?

Élise clenched her fists, as pain stabbed through her. _No!_ Élise cried. A thousand tiny needles raked through her chest, trapping the air in her chest and stealing her breath away. It should have been her. It shouldn’t be Arno. Arno was pure and innocent and idealistic. He needed to remain that way. He needn’t bear the burden of all this. He shouldn’t even have been an Assassin. He didn’t need to be looking over his shoulder and worrying for her, _killing himself_ …for her.

 _“Élise… Get down from there!_ ” Arno shouted, laughing and smiling up at her. Élise reached for the apple hanging from the branch. It was summer. They were at the garden at the villa home. Élise’s elbows and knees were already scrapped and bruised. Élise giggled and reached further. _Just a little more_ …

A creak was all it took for Élise to lose her grip. She felt as gravity grabbed her roughly by all her weighed and wrenched her from the tree. Élise felt idly her body tugged from the rest of her, as she slipped from the tree with a screech, and Arno screaming her name and reaching for her.

 _Arno…_ Élise wept. _Oh, Arno…_ _Mon dieu…_ _This is my fault_ … _It’s always been my fault_ …

Élise stepped lightly around the pillar. Though she had seen the empty space with her own eyes, felt it with her hands, somehow she still half expected to see Arno there, lying there, asleep maybe. And then only to wake, and smile at her, smirk more like and tease her for her tardiness. But… there was nothing there, only a smear of blood – Arno’s blood, to jar her into reality. Arno suddenly felt like a dream, a light fancy flit of a lifetime gone by, it almost felt like the years spent with him and her father were just dreams, and death was the reality.

Tears sprang up in Élise’s eyes and she turned, scanning the room, again. “Arno!” She cried. She dashed, running down the room, dashing through empty rooms and caverns and corridors. “Arno, where are you?!” She flew down the empty halls and ghostly hallways. It couldn’t be… He couldn’t just be gone! There had to be at least some trace…

A flash of colour caught her eye; a glint of blue was all she needed for Élise to rush to it. Throwing up rocks and collapsed rubble, tearing up her nails and fingers in the process, but she was too numb to notice the pain. Scrambling to her knees, she tore up the buried cloth, and unearthed something that broke her heart.

Arno’s coat, dirty and ripped, lay crumpled in a heap. Blood stained the middle and the buttons were torn and missing. Élise lifted it gingerly, almost reverently, and she hugged it to her chest. More tears threatened to overwhelm her, but she struggled pointlessly against them. It was only when she breathed in the scent of Arno – sweet and familiar, and with it, memories of a kiss, a smile, and love…so much love - amidst the musty smell of rock and dirt, that she cried. The dam broke within her and a crashing of rage and despair exploded in her chest, and Élise screamed, letting loose a guttural cry of pain that echoed off the rocks and walls and rang through the night. She howled and shouted, until her tears ran dry and her throat was hoarse, until all the strength left her and despair chilled her to the bone.

The door clicked again, for the second time that night, and Élise stepped through, quietly this time. The old man was asleep on a chair angled to the door by a dying fire. Any other time, Élise would worry about the dying embers failing to keep her mentor warm. But it hardly mattered – nothing mattered anymore. The click of the door swinging shut stirred Weatherall, who sputtered and woke. But when he saw the bloody eyes, hands and coat in her hands – there was no need for words, nor could there be any word that could console her. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be silenced by Élise’s hand that rose between them. It hung there for a moment, the room still and silent. And Élise stepped, one thread at a time, wordlessly passing him, one heavy foot in front of the other, up the steps and disappearing. Weatherall heard the sound of a door quietly closing, and then nothing but silence for the longest time. But he could not deny the pain, as he listened to the sobs through the night and till the day’s light crept over him.

* * *

Élise hardly slept. Her strength sapped by lack of rest and from the crying she let loose the entire night. Her eyes felt sore and dry, and she was certain they were red like roses and, puffy to makes things worse. In a another life and in another time, though she acted like it hardly fazed her, she would worry about hiding these sort of things, as the girls in Versailles would whisper and gossip about how ugly it would look, or wonder what boy broke her heart. Even worse, if they knew Arno, would pounce on the opportunity to grab him for their own.

 _Arno_ …

That name grated against her again… _Oh god…!_ Élise gasped, clutching her chest. She curled herself into an even tighter ball, as if trying to hold herself together. A soft knocking on her door interrupted her wallowing, and the door inching open slowly to reveal another sleepless face. Weatherall stepped into the room, only to quietly inform her that he had prepared a light meal for her, and then he was gone. It might have taken her hours or perhaps minutes, but Élise dragged herself up to a seated position. Not bothering to change out of the clothes she had worn that night, or clean up the blood on her hands and shirt, she walked down the stairs to sit at the small table that was one of the only furniture left in the house. Weatherall was silent and left her alone to her thoughts, save only to prod her to eat a bit more, drink something. Sit closer by the fire. The drawn look in his eyes spoke of his own silent vigil, waiting on Élise as she cried, and waiting for her to recover.

Élise barely tasted the food, nor did she even care what she placed in her mouth. Her strength which had left her slowly returned, and with it, the stirrings of a purpose. She unfolded the letter she had tucked in her pocket – it was crumpled and worn, from constant folding and reopening. She gazed at it sadly. She wanted to cry again but, her eyes had worn out. All she could do gasp for air that refused to fill her lungs. Silently, Weatherall pried the letter from her fingers, and read it. When he looked up, Élise had finished her meal, and was gazing emptily at the wall.

“Did he know about this?” Weatherall asked, gesturing to the paper as he placed it on the table between them. The letter fell open on the table, and Élise could see the words written on it, words that she had written the night before, words she had read over and over again, along with everything that had happened, like stabs of a knife each time. Over and over again.

_“If you are reading this now, then I made my choice there in the Temple._

_Know that I made it gladly, and do not take the burden of it unto yourself…_

Be at peace, my love, and walk what path you will. All my love, Élise”

 _“_ I don’t know…” Élise croaked her voice hoarse. Did it seem like she was going to her death? Would Arno have understood? She wanted to protect him, shield him from all of it. She had not anticipated his sudden vigour that night. Did he know, that she had only wanted to finish what they had begun, and that she was willing to pay the costs of it herself? Did he…die thinking that she was reckless? Impossible, he could not have known about the letter.

But Élise was faced then with an irrevocable truth – that Arno sensed her fearlessness, her lack of self-thought. She was right – in his fear to lose her, his one good thing, he would sacrifice himself, the way she would have had to when faced with Germain. Such twisted words…such thoughtless death. If only… If only she had spoken to him of her doubts, of his commitment to their mission. Would that have changed anything? Would one of them still be dead, the other pained. Élise choked back another sob when she realised…her sense of duty, no, her thirst for vengeance – Weatherall was right about her – it was what drove Arno to the grave. This was why he so thoughtlessly put himself between them, used any means to keep her away from Germain, if it meant they could both have their revenge, and Élise would live. That was all Arno wanted. And Élise had just cocked it up!

Élise stood up swiftly, the chair beneath her crashing to the floor. She turned and dashed for the stairs, and the door slammed shut. Élise refused to let it end there. Just as she refused to think that Arno was just dead. She had to find her answers, and she was not going to wait for them to come to her. If she had to, she would burn Paris to the ground to do it. If that made her just as bad as Germain, so be it. She would mop up the mess he had made on France. And make some of her own…


	3. Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Élise begins her search in the only place she knows, that Arno knows. Her journey of hardship starts of on a bitter but hopeful note

Élise shoved the pistol into the holster where it slid home. She grabbed the weighted bullets and packs of ammunition into her belt and tied her sash tight around her waist. The Templar cross seemed to weigh heavier than before, but she could not find it in her to remove it. Though she was on her own now, with no place to call home; though she had lost everything and everyone she loved, she would not go down like a dog. Her heart was like a slab of concrete in her chest and it throbbed every minute she breathed.

_This burden is mine. I’m going to find Arno. And take back what is mine._

Élise stomped down the steps, heading for the door, only to find Weatherall standing there, leaning against his stick. Élise stepped down the final step to meet him with a heavy heart. No doubt it was going to be words of wisdom – do not be reckless, use your wit and brain, trust your instincts or never overstep the sword… Élise barely needed to be reminded. But after Arno… Élise sighed. She realised she needed wisdom more than any steel or fire in this world. Standing before him, she recalled how tall and handsome he was in his younger days, when she was but a girl and learning swordplay was thrilling and tiring. Though she grew in stature, somehow he still towered over her. Now, as they stood facing each other on the step, he barely met her nose in height, so bent and weak, as well as old with years.

They met on the landing and Élise looked him in the eye. The old man instead raised his hand to offer her a gift. “What’s this?” she asked. The object in question was sheathed in a hilt of fine make. The craftsmanship was one Élise would recognise. Few swords and scabbards were made with this unique pattern, for select members of the Order. She remembered seeing it on her father’s wall. Weatherall lifted it and placed it Élise’s outstretched palms. It rested there, fitting snugly and shining with its splendour, more so than it gathering dust in Weatherall’s keeping, he thought.

“Your father gave me this. I have used it to defend your mother, your father…and then you.” Weatherall said.

“Mr Weatherall…” Élise muttered, shaking her head.

“I cannot use it anymore. Now it’s time you wielded it…” He pushed the sword further into her hands, where she gripped it with a renewed fervour. The wood creaked with the strength of her grasp and Weatherall nodded as if in answer. “Go, and find him. Fight for what you both need and deserve.”

“I will.”

“Élise.” He whispered. “Be careful…”

* * *

Alarmed voices and shouts rang through the cavern space, and Élise marched through the throng with determined strides. A hooded Assassin walked forward holding out a palm. “Mademoiselle, you can’t—‘’

Élise flicked out her arm, and the barrel of her gun was positioned between his eyes. “I can, and I will. Let me pass.”

A murmur of unease and caution ran through the crowd of Assassins, many reached for their weapons, while others watched and eased around her to get a better position. “Mademoiselle…” The man pleaded softly.

“Let me through! I must speak with your council. Now!” Élise demanded. She grabbed his shoulder, which stood taller than her a good foot, and pressed the barrel to his temple. She nudged him forward, towards the open area she had remembered being brought before the leaders of the Brotherhood with Arno. He was not there to protect her anymore. Though she had been blindfolded, she trusted in Arno. She knew he would never let any harm come to her.

 _How true those words rang…_ Élise lamented.

“Mademoiselle De la Serre.” A voice called. Élise raised her eyes to see 3 familiar figures step out over the audience of tensed Assassins. Hervé Quemar, whom Arno had once described as firm but fair, was a lawyer by trade, but though she did not know him besides his slight altercations with Mirabeau over Templars, she understood him to be trustworthy. Sophie Trenet; whom Élise would’ve disliked anyway even if she were not scowling down at her like a queen whose youth had been upstaged by a younger woman, was doing just that as she peered down with much disdain. And the tall, dark and imposing figure of Guillaume Beylier, who Élise could tell held the respect of more than just the council.

“Mademoiselle, please lower your weapon. We wish you no harm if you do not do so to ours…” Beylier called.

“ _No harm?_ She is threatening our people at gunpoint! How is that meaning no harm?” Trenet bellowed down. “Get her out!”

“Sophie, please…” Quemar pleaded gently.

“No! _Every time_ that girl steps in here, one of our brothers _dies_!” She screamed.

Élise felt her heart shake with grief and an equal amount of anger at her words. She remembered the last time she had set foot in the Saint-Chappelle, was the last time two Master Assassins, Mirabeau and Bellec were seen alive. Although she was not involved in their deaths per se, it was undoubtedly a point of tension, as she was the one Arno had brought to the council, she was the one Arno had protected at the cost of his own mentor’s life. And now, Arno himself…

 _Arno_ … Again, Arno… Élise cringed.

“Masters of the Brotherhood. I assure you, despite my appearance, I come in peace.” Élise addressed in a clear and loud voice that rang through the domed room. All in attendance heeded her words, as they rang with authority and majesty. “I only wish to speak with you. After I have sought the answers I need, I shall leave you and never parley with you again. I swear it.”

There was a rumble through the crowd. Though Élise could not make it out, she could surmise that the Assassins were very much wary of her, which they should be. But somehow, there was doubt among them. A chance; that was all she needed. Élise did not let down her guard as the 3 masters looked to each other.

“Mademoiselle, if you would please release our brother and come forward. We will discuss this privately, if that is indeed your intention.” Quemar offered.

Élise cautiously and slowly lowered her pistol, releasing her silent hostage. None attacked her or advanced on her. As she ascended the velvet steps up to the council chambers of the Assassins Brotherhood, she could not shake the small feeling in her gut of a sense of awe at the premises. Not only was she, a former Templar and enemy, stepping freely into the headquarters of a Brotherhood, but she was doing of her own volition. Well, almost entirely free - as two assassins walked behind her slowly, like sentries for a glorified prisoner. Another part of her, which Élise recognised as the part of her that was constantly thinking of Arno – so often she did, it almost took on a personality and voice of its own, she could almost recognise it in her head – was wondering if these were the steps Arno trod when he reported to his superiors. These halls, he trained in for the two years he was separated from her, while she herself underwent a training of sorts on her own. These rooms, which Arno slept in – would he have been thinking of her? Did he lay awake at night thinking of her as much as she thought of him now? She despaired a little on the inside again, thinking back to that period of her life, when almost nothing save the vengeance she sought was all she had on her mind. It was not Arno that consumed her. And she clenched her fists in anger.

_Yet another reason to regret everything._

She was led into a small room which walls were lined with books upon books. Idly, her thoughts wandered to Arno – would he have read these books in his time here? _Oh, stop it Élise…focus_. And she looked up to find herself being offered a small seat away from the 3 master Assassins which seated across from her at a table scattered with loose papers. The room was dimly lit with candles and a globe dominated the centre of the room. The two ‘bodyguards’ assumed their posts behind Élise’s chair, where they remained silent.

“So, mademoiselle de la Serre…” Master Beylier said conversationally, or at least Élise hoped he did. “What is the purpose of your visit?”

Élise half expected the hostile Trenet to turn on her at this point, like Bellec had quailed at every word she had said those months before, but she remained silent but still equally hostile. At that, Élise began to speak. “Where is Arno?”

The Assassins looked to each other, wordless communication running through them. Their silence grated on Élise’s nerves and she coiled against it. “Is he here?” She demanded again.

“Mademoiselle,” Trenet spoke calmly, “I’m afraid to inform you that Arno Dorian was expelled from our--‘’

“ _I know he was expelled_.” Élise interrupted impatiently. “And I know, that you know, that Arno and I have been working together on our own. So spare me the pleasantries, please, for all our sakes!”

Trenet snorted and shook her head, while Masters Quemar and Beylier looked to each other cryptically. The elder Quemar, with his sandy hair and light robes stood from his seat then, and circled around to move towards Élise. “Mademoiselle. I understand the two of you were close, and were in tandem to achieve a private goal you shared. As we understand it, the Templar Grand Master, one whom young monsieur Arno had tried to inform was behind a conspiracy involving your father, is apparently dead beneath The Temple.”

Élise turned her chin towards the man, and nodded. “Yes.”

“As you probably already know, we have searched the area and upon finding no traces of both you and Arno, had assumed that you were together. We were hoping to garner some information to Arno’s whereabouts, in fact, from you.”

Élise felt a cold sensation stab her. _So… They don’t know where he is either…_ Élise stood from her seat then, earning movement from her two bodyguards. She turned to Quemar, “If you think I would give you any information to Arno to punish him for something he doesn’t deserve, you’re wrong. I’m leaving, and I suggest you let me do so.”

Beylier and Trenet stood then, but Élise could see their postures were not aggressive, but passive. Quemar gave a  shared look between the three and nodded to Élise. “Very well, mademoiselle. But please understand, though we search for young Arno for different reasons, I can assure you we mean no harm to him, or you for that matter. We hold the greatest of respect for you both.”

“Really..?” Élise said, bleeding steel into her voice. “Like the last time I was here? I almost became guilty for a crime I did not commit… So, excuse me if that does not instil any of confidence in your word. Good day monsieur.” She said coldly. With a brusque turn, Élise exited the council chamber and hastily but careful descended the stairs, under the watchful eyes of a dozen or more Assassins, until she had exited unto the street again. The throng of everyday French life surrounded her again; a woman selling her wares, a man in street corner doing the same and more people streaming in from across the bridge and from the streets. When the cool air hit her face, Élise finally took a breath, gasping like she had been holding it in the entire time.

What had she expected? The Brotherhood to be cooperative or that Arno was there? Élise was shocked to discover she honestly had not expected him to be… What choice did she have? She had had to start somewhere, and Arno…was always loyal to the Brotherhood. It was a reasonable assumption for Arno to return to his comrades for help.

But…if he had…did he not trust her anymore? Leaving her in favour of _them?_

Élise gasped a breath to steady her, and a hand to straighten her heavy body which had flopped over the railing over the river. A footstep alerted her senses to a presence, and she whirled, with sword drawn faster than she had ever done before to meet the masked eyes of an Assassin. The man raised his hands, in a gesture of peace and surrender. Élise glared at him and spat, “ _What do you want, Assassin_?”

“You’re looking for Arno aren’t you, mademoiselle?” He said.

Élise’s eyes widened, but she quickly recovered herself. “Do you know anything about Arno? Do you know where he is?” The Assassins wore robes of pale white and red, in the kind common to the Brotherhood it seemed, but for one blue sash on his arm.

The stoic assassin seemed to measure her for a second, “I was sent to the Temple to understand what had happened there. When we arrived, I saw Arno dragging himself away.”

Élise’s heart stopped and in the next moment found her hands grabbing him by his collar. “ _You saw him? Where? Where did he go?”_ she shouted. The Assassin backed away under her weight, stunned by her urgency.

“He disappeared down the street….”

Élise’s eyes were wide and her chest felt like it was pressed with bags of sand. Arno was alive! He was alive! But…where was he now? She turned a heated gaze on him. “ _Why didn’t you help him_?”

The sudden turn to rage startled the Assassin. “I was there for a different reason…”

Élise sucked in a sharp breath and released the poor man. She backed away into the ledge and sat down, breathing hard. Keep in under control, she told herself. “Did you see which way he went?”

“Yes” he said. “After we scanned the area, I followed his trail. It disappeared in the tunnels, towards Saint-Dennis”

 _Saint-Dennis… The Franciade they were going to call it…_  Now Élise had a lead…finally.

“Thank you.” Élise muttered and turned away, already planning out her next move, anxious to get moving…

“Mademoiselle…”

Élise stopped and looked back, surprised. The Assassin spoke softly and sincerely, though his voice was devoid of seemingly any emotion, like what Élise had always seen Assassins as, masked and hooded, and killers, the lot of them. But she could feel behind his mask, the emotion he would have made. “If you find our brother, tell him to come home.” He then turned and disappeared into the crowd.


	4. At a Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Élise is faced with choices lain before. What will she decide? What is important then and now, changes over time, and Élise now has to decide what comes next

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So thank you guys for being with me for this long. I hope you guys are enjoying yourselves ^^V

One foot in front of the other…and keep walking, Élise told herself. Rushing through the crowded and chaotic streets of Paris was a challenge in itself. Dirty banners and bloody clothes were strewn across the street. Men carried corpses upon their shoulders to take for burial – for lack of space or aesthetics of the bloody street perhaps – either way; it was not because it was for the decency of the dead. There was the occasional clang of steel on steel as people duelled messily in the street, where more blood flowed, and it seemed only the market areas where food was zealously guarded or sold seemed to be the only ‘somewhat’ civil area of congregation. Élise tried not to draw too much attention to herself in her haste, but it was quite a challenge, with the amount of armed men seeking out blood in any place they could find. How on earth anyone got anywhere? No wonder Arno and his brothers seem to favour the rooftops…no one but the pigeons to bother you up there.

Her mind wandered to Arno scaling walls and rooftops, Arno standing on the edge of buildings staring out across the horizon, Arno… Élise shook her head. Stop this nonsense. This was just guilt, goading her into grief. What was she guilty for? Not giving him so much a thought the past two years, or the anger she had directed toward him that was the impetus of his drunken stay at Versailles, or that she had caused his… Élise slapped herself. _Stop_. She moved even faster and more efficiently than before now, crossing the flagstones of the Pont with speed as people milled about her. She was going to find him and…what then? Apologise? Was that even sufficient for what she felt she had done? Élise frowned. First things first, find out if he’s alive and make sure he’s okay. Tend to him and make him well. Then all others will fall in place.

Élise pouted, stopping by the edge of the Seine. She always did that. Thinking two steps ahead but never far enough. She hated it. What was she doing now? When she got to the Franciade, what was her plan? Ask around for people who would have seen an injured man walking down the street. That was quite literally half of Paris by this point. And what else? Would anyone in their right mind be out an about that early while someone seemed to have been attacked? No one would even want to help him for fear of their own safety. _Oh Arno_ … _You struggled alone…_

Élise’s eyes flashed with fire. She was not going to slow herself down and despair. Even if she had to barge into every household in the district, in Paris, she would find him.

“Mademoiselle de la Serre!” A voice shouted. Élise whipped her head around, seeing no one turning in her direction. She walked forward, going in the direction of the voice. It called again, this time softer, calling her to come closer. _This is a bad idea_ … Élise muttered to herself. Nevertheless, she inched forward into a small alley which at one time had probably functioned as a small café, offering privacy from the streets beyond, and comfort in tables and chairs for a small meal. Élise approached warily, where a man in dark robes came forward. Élise drew her sword and guarded herself, her face remaining impassive. The man threw back his hood, and Élise found herself lowering her sword in recognition.

“Marquis de Pimôdan.” Élise greeted. She recalled his quivering lip, his hesitant and fearful eyes, the sweat beading off his brow in an almost tangible aura of fear, the last time Élise had seen him, he had confirmed to her that Germain had grown more powerful than she had anticipated, or perhaps faster than she had hoped. It was a time of great tension, when she had no idea who would come for her and why. Was it the Order they desired or her life? Or both? The very Marquis lowered his head before her, this time calmly as he offered a bow in reverent greeting.

“Mademoiselle…” he replied. “I am thankful that you have survived this revolution peacefully and safely.”

 _Hardly_. Élise thought to herself. “What is it that you want, my lord?” She strode past his bent figured, still in reverent bow towards her, and walked to the empty table and chairs. The Marquis, to his benefit, sat across from her, in an almost poetic yet pathetic fallacy of the mood of their relationship. An empty table of the ghost of a council of the Templar Order that could have been, brutally snuffed out by Germain before it even had the chance to draw breath. One leg crossed over the other, Élise stared down the aged and ragged man beneath his cowl where he sat in an almost sad pose.

“Mademoiselle, please, I beg you to trust me. Please trust my loyalty to you and your family.” The Marquis raised his dreary eyes to look upon Élise, who only looked back with masked disdain. Though she did not blame him, or any of the old loyalists who might have resisted, she still resented their weakness, their quick show of loyalty to the new upstart Grand Master and his power, and not even a sign of hope that they might have helped her. No one but Pimôdan that is, but only when Élise’s intuition prodded him to confess it. Though she might have given him slight credit for his little act of kindness, warning her of the impending trap of Germain’s men, she still could not forget the months of pain when she dove off the roof into the Seine to recuperate from the wounds she had taken from the fall, or that he had so easily ‘betrayed’ her.

She recalled she used to have this undeserved feeling towards Arno as well, when she saw his ‘weakness’, in her, allowing Germain to kill her father, allowing Germain to escape. She felt angry at him for caring about her like he cared for nothing else. She hated herself now, for that. Élise sighed, “What is it that you want monsieur?”

“Only to help you, mademoiselle. Myself and so many others failed you in the days of Germain. But now, we hear news that he has fallen? Is that true?” he asked. Élise could see the hopeful yet weak shine in his eyes, and suddenly could see the years of weary cautious living had taken its toll on him – living in fear that Germain might find him, or discover his lingering loyalty to the de la Serre name? Hiding and fearing the local populace around him, that they might drag him off to the guillotine simply for his title and land. The poor sod probably had had no peace…if he was indeed telling the truth. Élise’s eyes narrowed as she leaned forward across the table.

“How do I know that you or the Order can be trusted to accommodate my existence anymore?” Élise glistened with suspicion and malice. “The last time you invited me to trust you was the last time I had any faith in the Order and my ‘allies’”

The Marquis gasped in terror. “No! No mademoiselle de la Serre. I assure you…” he waved his hands in surrender. “I have and always was loyal. I was only afraid. I could only play a charade. Please understand. I know you well capable of handling yourself, and if what I hear is true, that you were the one that rid us of Germain, that could more than justify your claim and right…”

Élise tipped back unto her chair with a scoff, startling the Marquis with her sudden rise in hostility. “You have got to be kidding me...not _this_ discussion, again.”

“Please, mademoiselle, hear me.” The broken man pleaded. “Even if you do not desire your birth right, even if that were true. The Order _needs you_.” When Élise scoffed yet again, the Marquis seemed to break free of his hesitation. “Although Germain may be gone, his loyalists remain. News of his demise will only make things worse and this may spell trouble for the Order. Few, were truly loyal to Germain; attracted, lured and seduced by his charisma and vision perhaps, but it seems the Assassins have rid those of true stock to him. Those that remain are only going to see this as an opportunity to rise up and take the title for them. They have already positioned themselves rightly within the Order to lay claim on it. But should they succeed, I shudder to think what the future of the Order or France may be for that matter.”

“The Assassins would hardly allow the new fanatics to run rampant.” Élise pointed out dismissively, drawing from her brief visit to the Parisian Brotherhood, she had already sized them up to be strong wills of their own, and they did not have the same discontent among their ranks as the Order did.

Pimôdan shook his head. “No, mademoiselle. It hardly matters. What matters is that we have the power and right to prevent it. If someone, with the right name, with the right reputation and intelligence could challenge them…” he whispered. Élise saw it, the glimmer in his eyes - that shadow of schemes that she had grown accustomed to in her life, seeing it in her father sometimes, members of the Order she had met, people in high society, plotting against each other. All the treachery in the world boiled down to that one look that the Marquis sat stewing in him. Everyone in her life had that glint, save one.

 _Arno_ – who only hatched plots to steal food or chocolate he was not allowed to eat. Arno, though grown into an Assassin, a man, had never had that in his eyes even when he planned out his missions. Somehow, even though Élise knew he killed, though it seemed a fact of life where they lived now, he never had that wickedness in him. He was a good man…

Élise scowled when realisation hit her of the Marquis’ plans. “You want _me_ to take back the seat of Grand Master from among old, dusty men who would‘ve wanted nothing but my family’s ruin, while France tears itself to pieces?” she spat incredulously.

The glint that sparked in his eyes died down just as suddenly as it shone, winking out like candlelight snuffed out. “Mademoiselle…” He gasped. “Please… I’m imploring you. For the good of the Order, we need this. We need to rebuild and restore it to the ways of your father. I cannot promise you with certainty that your previous allies may awaken at your return, but I can assure you, that some of us are still here. If we allow any part of Germain’s circle within the Order to survive this tempest, none of us will survive this century…including you.”

His eyes flashing with determination, made Élise think for a moment that the Marquis was not such a weak willed follower after all. “For your own safety, please eliminate Germain’s loyalists; uproot the weeds of that villain, and save us.”

* * *

Élise walked carefully beside the Marquis de Pimôdan, each thread a calculation, as he spoke about his few and almost entirely useless allies, it seemed to Élise, within the Order – the last of the conservatives. As they moved, Élise noticed at the edge of her peripheral a familiar sensation, one that Weatherall had trained her to sharpen at all times, and one she had to agree was utterly essential. Her senses fanned out to locate the movement she had detected. They were not alone it seemed. As the oblivious Marquis continued, she waited, allowing the opportunity to ripen – the mysterious figure loomed behind them – and Élise whirled, sword already gleaming in her hand, to strike down the pistol still being raised so sluggishly to her back, and slit at the assailants knees. A sharp cry rang up in the alley as the would-be thief cried out and fell backwards, clutching his legs where blood loomed up like ripe grapes crushed and bleeding. Élise towered over the man, whose ragged appearance, broken wide hat, and dirt covered hands and feet informed her of a poor citizen.

Ignoring his cries, Élise pointed her sword, Weatherall’s sword at the man’s throat. “Poor choice of target, monsieur. You should have picked a weaker mark.” She taunted the groaning thief. She bent down then, to pick up the fallen pistol. Her fingers then froze cold over the wood and metal of it. Her chest felt heavy and her breath stolen from her. _She knew this, she knew this gun._ The barrels were dirty but she could see they were well-maintained by its previous owner. It was gold plated and shone, under the layer of grime of the filthy man’s paws, but she could see it was lovingly cleaned in another life.

_This is Arno’s pistol._

Élise turned the gun unto the man, who shrieked in terror, pain forgotten. The hellfire blazed in Élise’s eyes, while both her victim and companion cowered in her rage. The barrel steady between his eyes, she glared down at her attacker, and spat cold rage. “ _Where did you get this gun?_ ” She demanded. When the man whimpered and did not answer, Élise fired a shot, taking out the man’s kneecap. A howl of pain rang out as the shot obliterated the bone, causing the Marquis to flinch.

“ _Where did you find this?_ ” She screamed. Élise scowled with disgust and impatience as he cried tears of anguish. A loud bang accompanied by another shriek of terror rang through the lonely alley, when he did not answer. And Élise was oblivious to the blood that splattered over her boots.

 _“Where?!_ ” She shouted.

“I don’t know… I don’t know! I found it in the street along with some bloody cloths… That’s all I know! Please!” the man pleaded tearfully and pathetically. Élise glanced down again at the gun. She knew this gun, she remembered it. She had seen it and admired it once at Arno’s hip, where she playfully reached behind him while he was utterly lost in her eyes, and grabbed it from its holster.

_“Give it back, Élise.” Arno laughed._

_“What an exquisite piece…wonderfully and beautifully made.” Élise teased, twirling the weapon around her fingers and lifting it to her lips for a light kiss. “I’d love to see more of your guns, Arno…” she trailed suggestively._

Arno had mentioned he saved up for months to buy this pistol. Back then, when they were just an Assassin, just a lonely Templar, and Élise had walked with him before they had dined that night. Arno smiling, Arno laughing… So much had changed. Élise wanted it back.

“Where exactly did you pick this up?”

“I don’t know!” He cringed again, fearful of what those words might bring. “Maybe near the Rue de Paradis… Please… Don’t kill me…” He wept.

Élise’s shone with hope. He was near this location… He was alive! But…what reason would he have dropped his gun if not for foul play? How would he defend himself in his condition? Élise gasped in rapid breaths, clutching the pistol. She tucked the gun into her belt next to her own and took a step before being interrupted by Pimôdan.

“Mademoiselle, please. We need to go. If we miss this meeting, there’s no telling when we will get another chance like this! Please!” The Marquis pleaded. Élise despaired, her eyes lost and desperate.

This was the only chance she could get to make it up to her father’s memory, for the first time in so long and stumbling about, she could fix things, make up for her mistake, even her error with Arno. But Arno was _so close!_ He was close, and Élise knew it! Her eyes followed down the street where Paradise called to her, then looked across to the looming building where Templars awaited her.

_Oh Arno… What should I do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHHH man... Élise thinks this guy is a turd, i think so too. BUT MAN. Élise is ruthless. Arno makes her lovesick. She needs him...she really does


End file.
